


Over and over

by singitagain



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergent, M/M, casual drabble thing, cuddlef'king
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-30
Updated: 2018-01-30
Packaged: 2019-03-11 14:34:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13526307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/singitagain/pseuds/singitagain
Summary: He loves a neck; it's true.





	Over and over

Collars loosen, open. Then their waistcoats, too many tight little buttons involved. They bump knuckles as they work at them together, nervous energy snapping off their fingertips.

Ripping away Oswald's silk shirt is out of the question, of course. Ed's made his peace with that and helps Oswald untangle himself from his undershirt after, their heads muzzy and thick as they go down together. He presses Oswald into the mattress, feeling the knotted strength in the body under his. The hardness of him.

Oswald tips up his chin in a challenge but his eyes are already fluttering shut as they bump noses, chins, mouths seeking, melting together. Ed's glasses dig into the bridge of his nose as he slides readily into the kiss, darkness sharpening the taste of the Ed, the sharp tang of wine on his mouth. But Oswald doesn't care, can't begin to care, a little noise uncurling in his throat as he clasps a hand around the side of Ed's neck to keep him close. Still holding on when he pulls away, lungs burning for air, panting a moment against the soft damp of Ed's mouth. Eyes closed, he lolls his head back and bares his throat.

Ed swallows. 

He loves a neck; it's true. 

And Oswald's is so often hidden behind a wingtip collar and the rich silk of a cravat bunched underneath, a gift to lay bare at the end of the day when all their paperwork was through or Oswald tore him away from them, demanding his full attention. 

Ed loves the flex of muscles when he swallows, nervous; the soft, trembling skin just under his jaw. Simple things that mean so much more with a friend involved. A man who meets would-be usurpers to his throne with a switchblade-smile, his eyes a cold, fierce blue. A man who bends to no one and yet will bend to him, soften under the right words at the right time, under his lips when he stains his chest and neck with kisses.

Ed smooths a hand up Oswald's ribs, skimming a pinkish scar and the pebbled flesh of a nipple. Feeling a shiver run under his skin, chasing his fingertips. Oswald seems so small under him, so fragile, all hungry angles and edges. Skin softer than a viper's skin has any right to be. Ed can't help a smile tweaking the corner of his lips when he slides off his glasses and feathers kisses along the sharp curve of Oswald's Adam's apple - and Oswald lets him, humming his pleasure.

Sleeping with his mentor and boss never figured into his plans. But he'll take it - take _him_ \- before Oswald can reconsider.

 _Or after_ , a voice whispers to him from a dark corner in his mind, and Ed hears the smirk in it. Can feel it run him through his guts and feel his mouth move, lips shaping themselves around a 'no'. But a beat passes and then another, and he still hasn't heard himself say it.

A furrow appears between Oswald's brows when Ed goes too quiet, too still. He blinks at him. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." Ed answers, quickly, with a shake of his head. "...I was just thinking about how much I have to learn from you. I think it's impossible to know you and not see how amazing you truly are."

Oswald lets out a little scoff of a laugh, his body softening into the bed. It's a relief they both share.

"You are a true politician, Ed." He quirks the smile of someone still uncomfortable in his own skin. "But so much more likable. ...Although I think I'd like you just a _smidge_ more if you picked up where you left off." An uptick of a smile too gentle around the edges to be a smirk. "Just saying."

Ed smiles too, for him.

"Of course," he says. "Anything for you."

And for tonight, the answer is good enough.

Slowly, Oswald sobers, lifting a hand between them to cradle Ed's jaw, and neither of them say anything else. Just look long into each other's faces, thinking about nothing and everything. 

Oswald's eyes are more black than blue, swimming with that strange, dreamy wonder that can be so hard to look at. He's drunk, of course.

So is Ed.

But not so much that the trust in them doesn't scare Ed; and more than he knows it should.


End file.
